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Authors: Penny Warner
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instantly.
Jonathan reached out to shake my hand.
I took his hand, wondering if this whole thing would come back to haunt me, and we sealed the deal.
He held on to my hand and looked intently into my eyes.
“ ’S’up?” Brad said, startling me from behind.
I jerked my hand from Jonathan’s and felt my face grow hot.
“Nothing! I . . . uh, just agreed to do the séance event for Jonathan. He’s going to pay my price and donate a percentage to the Stroke Association.” I wiped my palm off on my jeans. Why was I suddenly feeling so flustered?
And guilty?
Jonathan frowned at Brad. “You know, you really look familiar . . . What’s your name again?”
“Brad Matthews,” he said, meeting Jonathan’s gaze.
“And you work for Presley?” Jonathan asked.
Brad shrugged. “I help her out sometimes.”
“I—We’d better get going,” I stammered, looking at Brad for backup.
The two men continued staring at each other. Neither one said anything in the growing silence.
“Okay, so, I’ll start planning the details and—”
Jonathan cut me off and waved a finger at Brad. “Wait a minute!”
I frowned at him, irritated at his rudeness in interrupting me.
“I know who you are.”
Suddenly the color drained from Jonathan’s face as he said, “You’re that janitor. The one I caught snooping around my employee’s office.”
Chapter 6
PARTY PLANNING TIP #6
When hosting your Séance Party, create a “spirit circle” by gathering twelve people. Then be sure to leave a single chair for the visiting spirit—also known as the Thirteenth Guest. Or Ghost.
“I wasn’t snooping in his damn office,” Brad snapped. “And I’m not a janitor. I’m a crime scene cleaner.”
“Then what were you doing going through his stuff?”
“I wasn’t going through his stuff. I was cleaning up after your ex-employee who supposedly committed suicide in his office.”
“Supposedly?” Jonathan said, his hands balling into fists.
Before the two puffed-up roosters’ feathers went flying, I moved between them. I felt the heat coming from both their bodies.
“Brad!”
“What? He started it . . . ” he began, then no doubt heard how silly he sounded and stopped.
I turned to Jonathan. “I’m sorry about this. Why don’t we talk about the details tomorrow?” To Brad I said firmly, “Would you please escort my mother to the car? I want to ask Mia one last question.” He frowned, still staring at Jonathan. “Please?” I added, softly.
He tore his gaze away and met my eyes, his face visibly softened. “Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you there.” Shooting a last look at Jonathan, he strode off to collect my mother, who was paying the cashier for a counter full of Winchester Mystery House souvenirs: an illustrated book detailing the house, some postcards, a miniature replica of the mansion that served as a salt shaker, and a T-shirt that read “The House that Fear Built!” that glowed in the dark. What was she going to do with all that stuff at her care center?
“What a jerk,” Jonathan said under his breath as Brad shuffled my mother out of the gift shop.
I bristled at the comment, but said nothing. I wasn’t going to get involved in their pissing contest. This gig would pay me a lot of money and benefit a great cause. I didn’t want to lose the opportunity.
Jonathan reached out a hand and touched my arm. His touch gave me a chill, but not the good kind. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, “to set up another meeting. Then we can discuss the details.” He squeezed my arm.
I wanted to jerk it out of his hand, but resisted. Instead, I took a step back, slipping out of his grasp. “Sounds good,” I said, and headed toward the exit. “I’ll talk to you then,” I called back.
During the return drive from San Jose to San Francisco, Brad said little. Mother did most of the talking, recounting the tour and sharing her excitement about the upcoming Séance Party. We dropped her off at her
Jonathan reached out to shake my hand.
I took his hand, wondering if this whole thing would come back to haunt me, and we sealed the deal.
He held on to my hand and looked intently into my eyes.
“ ’S’up?” Brad said, startling me from behind.
I jerked my hand from Jonathan’s and felt my face grow hot.
“Nothing! I . . . uh, just agreed to do the séance event for Jonathan. He’s going to pay my price and donate a percentage to the Stroke Association.” I wiped my palm off on my jeans. Why was I suddenly feeling so flustered?
And guilty?
Jonathan frowned at Brad. “You know, you really look familiar . . . What’s your name again?”
“Brad Matthews,” he said, meeting Jonathan’s gaze.
“And you work for Presley?” Jonathan asked.
Brad shrugged. “I help her out sometimes.”
“I—We’d better get going,” I stammered, looking at Brad for backup.
The two men continued staring at each other. Neither one said anything in the growing silence.
“Okay, so, I’ll start planning the details and—”
Jonathan cut me off and waved a finger at Brad. “Wait a minute!”
I frowned at him, irritated at his rudeness in interrupting me.
“I know who you are.”
Suddenly the color drained from Jonathan’s face as he said, “You’re that janitor. The one I caught snooping around my employee’s office.”
Chapter 6
PARTY PLANNING TIP #6
When hosting your Séance Party, create a “spirit circle” by gathering twelve people. Then be sure to leave a single chair for the visiting spirit—also known as the Thirteenth Guest. Or Ghost.
“I wasn’t snooping in his damn office,” Brad snapped. “And I’m not a janitor. I’m a crime scene cleaner.”
“Then what were you doing going through his stuff?”
“I wasn’t going through his stuff. I was cleaning up after your ex-employee who supposedly committed suicide in his office.”
“Supposedly?” Jonathan said, his hands balling into fists.
Before the two puffed-up roosters’ feathers went flying, I moved between them. I felt the heat coming from both their bodies.
“Brad!”
“What? He started it . . . ” he began, then no doubt heard how silly he sounded and stopped.
I turned to Jonathan. “I’m sorry about this. Why don’t we talk about the details tomorrow?” To Brad I said firmly, “Would you please escort my mother to the car? I want to ask Mia one last question.” He frowned, still staring at Jonathan. “Please?” I added, softly.
He tore his gaze away and met my eyes, his face visibly softened. “Yeah, sure. I’ll meet you there.” Shooting a last look at Jonathan, he strode off to collect my mother, who was paying the cashier for a counter full of Winchester Mystery House souvenirs: an illustrated book detailing the house, some postcards, a miniature replica of the mansion that served as a salt shaker, and a T-shirt that read “The House that Fear Built!” that glowed in the dark. What was she going to do with all that stuff at her care center?
“What a jerk,” Jonathan said under his breath as Brad shuffled my mother out of the gift shop.
I bristled at the comment, but said nothing. I wasn’t going to get involved in their pissing contest. This gig would pay me a lot of money and benefit a great cause. I didn’t want to lose the opportunity.
Jonathan reached out a hand and touched my arm. His touch gave me a chill, but not the good kind. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said, “to set up another meeting. Then we can discuss the details.” He squeezed my arm.
I wanted to jerk it out of his hand, but resisted. Instead, I took a step back, slipping out of his grasp. “Sounds good,” I said, and headed toward the exit. “I’ll talk to you then,” I called back.
During the return drive from San Jose to San Francisco, Brad said little. Mother did most of the talking, recounting the tour and sharing her excitement about the upcoming Séance Party. We dropped her off at her
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